The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse
Through an evanescent mist I see a vision,
Of four horses--white, red, black and pale,
Galloping from the four points of the compass,
Towards a preordained meeting that will end the world.
The white horse tramples freedom in endless conquest,
Along its path of false glory, extremists reviving dead empires,
Thirsting still for lost hegemony under red and black banners,
With hammers and sickles, swastikas and waxing moons with stars.
The red horse crushes the bones of the innocent,
Under its bloody hooves as they march to a steady drumbeat,
To kill brothers and sisters born in other lands, as well as
Neighbors near and far labeled enemies and marked for death.
The black horse sows famine with its every hoof fall,
Leaving blight, thirst, and hunger in its dusty wake,
To the everlasting glory of misguided, foolish, evil rulers,
Of countries once graced by great people and wealth.
The pale horse leaves death in all lands it touches,
Planting seeds of hate, fear, and envy that bloom unbridled evil,
In the hearts of fatuous, self-righteous, hubris-filled monsters,
Who defile humanity to impose their ends by any means necessary.
Take your eyes away from the mirror, put away your smart phone,
Shut down your computer, turn off your television set, wake up from your slumber,
Scan the horizon, you will see the dust clouds growing near, and hear the soft,
Galloping hoof falls above life’s normal din—they’re coming for you.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish